


Pretty Boy Don't Get Hurt

by Radicalkay



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Crossdressing, Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, Lashton - Freeform, M/M, OT4, Self-Denial, Self-Hatred, and he hates himself for it, and wear makeup, bad family home, but ashton makes him feel better, cal and mikey are v supportive, he just likes pretty things, luke is not trans, luke likes to dress up, lukes life is shit, zayn and harry appear very briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 07:56:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1932951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radicalkay/pseuds/Radicalkay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Luke was four he didn't understand how the world worked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Boy Don't Get Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> I read a lashton smut fic about Luke liking to be pretty and this was born.
> 
> Shoot me a message on tumblr if you like this/have a fic idea for me :)  
> http://radicalkay.tumblr.com/

When Luke was four he decided he didn’t understand how the world worked. Why was he always _expected_ to get dirty and nasty and want to play football instead of maybe just sitting down? He liked playing with his action figures, and looking at comics, but everyone always wanted him to be _doing_ something. He didn’t get it.

 

He didn’t quite understand clothing either, because he never got to wear any of the pretty skirts with the bright colors and sparkly hues; he always had to wear _shorts and a shirt and it was just so boring._ It wasn’t that he didn’t _like_ his clothes (because he did) he just wanted some variety. It didn’t seem fair that the _girls_ got to wear all the nice stuff.

 

When Luke was four he asked his mom for a dress and he was too young to understand the concerned looks aimed in his direction; didn’t see the upturned noses or hear the hushed whispered behind hands at the department store. All he knew was they he _finally_ had something sparkly and pretty like all the girls at his school and it was the best day of his life.

 

_It didn’t even bother him that his mom only let him wear it around the house, and only when his father wasn’t home._

 

When Luke was five his brothers teased him for painting his nails and his mother didn’t say a word.

 

_“Lukey that’s what girls do, what’s wrong with you?”_

 

When Luke was six his brother’s playful fights had turned nastier, and his father turned a blind eye.

 

_“People at school make fun of us because of you.”_

 

When Luke was seven he stopped asking for skirts and dresses not because he didn’t want them anymore, but because he’d finally figured out what would flash across his mom’s face every time he would ask. Disgust, confusion, embarrassment. His father rarely looked at him anymore, doting on his older brothers and sneering whenever Luke came into the room. He asked to join the football team and threw all of his skirts in a trash bag to proudly set it outside. That night his dad smiled at him.

 

_Luke cried himself to sleep._

When Luke was eight his dad started drinking and he’d come home late and sometimes when he thought Luke wasn’t looking he’d _sneer_ with this awful look and Luke wanted to run far, far away.

 

_He missed getting to dress up._

 

When Luke was nine his brothers stopped hitting him and girls with long, shiny hair and clear eyes would giggle when he sat next to them. One of them kissed him on the cheek and he flushed red. She let him hold her hand and declared they were “dating”. She would sit next to him at lunch and if she had something sweet, she would share it with him.

 

_It lasted for a week and afterwards Luke couldn’t help but shyly look at his friend Conner and wonder if he could date him._

When Luke was ten his eyes would linger on the girls’ section, fingers itching to run over the fabric and slip them on.

 

_His dad would catch him looking sometimes and the ghosts of bruises left on his wrists and arms would hunt him forever._

 

When Luke was eleven, Conner told him he was moving away and Luke kissed him on the cheek.

 

_The other boy turned tail and ran._

 

When Luke was twelve he rarely talked to anyone.

 

_The kids at school just didn’t get it._

And maybe it was strange because he still liked running around and getting dirty. He loved football and he had friends on his team that didn’t think he was weird, _(he never told them about some of the things he thought about sometime thought because he’d learned a long time ago no one would understand)._

 

When Luke was thirteen he his parents started leaving him alone at home so they could both get full-time jobs and he worked up the courage for _weeks_ to break into his mom’s makeup bag. He almost cried when he did, confusion and self-hatred pumping through his veins but he still took it. He was captivated by the shimmering glosses and weird sticks that he wasn’t quite sure what to do with. Sitting in his room, odd containers full of powers and scents scattered around him, he tried to imitate what he’d seen his mom do.

 

He couldn’t make it past lip-gloss and mascara before he felt like he was going to throw up, and Liz found him curled up on his bed crying, black streaks slashed across his pale cheeks.

 

_What’s wrong with me why do I think like this mom am I freak I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself._

 

Slowly, she taught him how to use makeup. (He pretended he didn’t see the pain on her face and she pretended she didn’t see the excitement on his). They could only do it when it was only the two of them at home, but Luke didn’t care. All he cared about was how amazing it was how _big_ his eyes looked wearing mascara and eyeliner-

 

_He didn’t know his dad was coming home early and the welt on his face didn’t go away for weeks. His brothers wouldn’t come near him for months. The yelling didn’t stop for years and the pit in his stomach didn’t go away ever._

 

Luke stopped playing football and bought a guitar when he was fourteen. He holed himself up in his room, blocking out the arguments downstairs with songs that bubbled out of his head and his fingertips. He started posting YouTube videos, not really expecting them to go anywhere, (and they didn’t, he barely got any views but people always commented and it was so exciting every time told him he sounded good)

 

  _Sometimes at night when his dad came home he was afraid to venture downstairs because the words hurled at him were harsh and ugly and no matter what he did it wasn’t good enough. Handprints littered his arms and he couldn’t wear short-sleeved shirts to school; he rarely put makeup on anymore, (when he did he’d look in the mirror and hate the butterflies in the pit of his stomach) and the excitement he’d once had crushed by the overwhelming feeling of despair._

Luke was fourteen when he kissed a boy at a party, hidden under the dimmed lights and flashing music they explored each other’s mouths, nimble fingers threading through hair and looping around waists.

 

  _He had emerald eyes and golden curls and Luke could have kissed him for the rest of his life._

 

In English _and_ music class, he sat next to a boy named Calum, and they quickly bonded over their love for bands. (A boy named Michael was friends with Calum too, but he _hated_ Luke, so the three of them rarely hung out.) Calum said the other boy was just being stupid but Luke knew why; he was sure Michael had heard the things people whispered about him. It wasn’t as if he was a topic of conversation, but he’d heard in passing that people thought he was too quiet, that some of the things he said and did weren’t quite right.

 

_He would curl up in a ball in his room when his parents fought, hands over his ears as his dad hurled unintelligible insults at the whole house, caught up in drunken rage._

_He learned to hate the word gay._

_He learned to hate himself._

_He learned that what he felt was wrong and sickening._

_When his dad left one night and didn’t come back, he didn’t want to be happy but he was._

 

Halfway through the year Calum brought up the idea of starting a band. He’d finally gotten Mikey in the same room as Luke long enough to hear him sing and the blonde boy was sold. They would meet up maybe once a week, mainly just messing around and _maybe_ posting something. (It was quite exciting to watch their subscriber count tick up as people from around the _world_ watched their videos.)

 

_He never invited the boys over to his house. He knew his mom wanted to meet them but he didn’t know what he would do if they asked him where his dad was, if they found the stash hidden under his bed-_

 

When Luke was 15 he was having the best time of his life because they’d _finally_ found a drummer and they’d released an _EP._ They were playing on radio shows and for the first time in his life, Luke actually thought this might be able to work.

 

But maybe it wouldn’t because their drummer, _Ashton,_ was the nicest person Luke had ever met and he just couldn’t stop _laughing_ around him. He was probably being stupid but he was also probably a little bit in love because every time the older boy would _smile_ at him his heart would race. He had honey eyes and curly brown hair that would glint blonde in the sunlight and Luke thought he was dying. His heart would ache because what he felt was _wrong_ and he desperately wanted these boys to like him and he couldn’t mess this up, not now.

 

_“Does Luke not like me or something? I didn’t notice it at first, but it’s like he doesn’t want to be alone with me?” Luke froze where he was, just out of sight, waiting with baited breath for Calum’s response. “I doubt he hates you, he’s just shy, that’s all. It took him forever to warm up to me, and it was ages before he even talked to Michael.”_

When Luke was fifteen-and-a-half Ashton called the band for a group meeting because (“I just can’t keep this a secret anymore”) Tears rolling down his face, fingers interlocked in his lap, he told them he fancied boys and refused to meet their eyes. Something exploded in Luke’s chest and it took everything to hold himself back but he was _drowning, drowning, drowning_ ; hairpin cracks running through his veins and he felt like he could crumble like dust to the floor. “I understand if you want to kick me out I mean-“ he was cut off when Michael tackled him, soon followed by Calum and Luke. “Are you kidding me? Do you think we care?” Laughing, Ashton ruffled Luke’s hair (like he always did) and he blushed.

 

_“Fucking faggot what’s wrong with you? How did I go wrong raised you, your brothers turned out fine but you- you’re a mistake.”_

When Luke was sixteen before he ran out on stage his knees locked; throat grew tight and he didn’t know why. Later, Harry told him he’d had a panic attack and _“Its not that big of a deal, they suck really badly, I get them sometimes. You just have to find an anchor to pull you through it.”_ Easy for him to say, he had a boyfriend to hold him, kiss his cheeks and tell him _“Just breath baby come on just for me you can do this”_.

 

_It didn’t take long for them to find that Ashton could calm him down the quickest, rubbing circles on his back and running his fingers through Luke’s hair._

When Luke was sixteen he was living in a dream because _One Direction_ asked them to open for them and suddenly they were on the fringe of making it. Fans flocked to them, and the small crowds of maybe ten people that would be waiting for them outside grew. He still shot Ashton small glances when he thought the older boy wasn’t looking, face burning red when the older boy would catch him and smile sweetly. He tried not to focus on the fact that he craved being around Ashton; fingers curling around his waist when they cuddled, nose pressed against his neck, his head pillowed on the older boy’s chest.

 

They were in sightseeing in New York when they passed it.

 

It was a tiny store, hidden away in the corner of an ally but Luke saw it; it drew his eye because there in the window was a male manikin wearing _girls clothing_ -

 

_He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it since he was a kid, being pretty, getting made up just because. He no longer let himself go into drug stores because he was too afraid he would break down and walk out with the stuff he’d been trying to avoid for so, so long. He waited with baited breath for the other boys to go out drinking that night before he sprinted back to the store, heart heavy and thrumming with excitmentresentmentguilt-_

 

In the end, he bought 3 pairs of silk panties and a skirt and he stuffed the bag at the bottom of his suitcase in the hidden compartment with the makeup he’d bought and didn’t look at it again for a month.

 

_But on one of the nights they wanted to go get smashed somewhere Luke hung back, locking his hotel door and sliding the red silk panties with trembling fingers, then the black skirt. He couldn’t help but admire how long his legs looked in the mirror, how the red shone against his skin._

 

Luke was sixteen when his dad called him; god knows where he got the number. He was sixteen when he broke into a cold sweat when the caller ID popped up on his phone and he quickly excused himself from the game of FIFA he was playing with Michael. He was sixteen when he curled himself up in his bunk, tidal waves of despair crashing over him and he was choking over the sound of his father’s voice.

 

_“So you think that because you’re some kinda big shot now, touring with a boy band, you probably think its okay what you are, (Luke could smell the alcohol through the phone, taste it on the slurring words), do they know? Do you’re precious band members KNOW HOW DISGUSTING YOU ARE? (He couldn’t stifle the sobs ripped from his chest) Do they know what you use to do, what you probably STILL do? You’re the reason I’m like this, you’re the reason our family fell apart you fucking queer you know that right?_

 

Luke was broken when Calum called him for dinner, (“We’re going to one of those Dim Sum places- shit Lukey are you okay?”) Eyes rimmed red he looked up from where he was frozen, staring at his phone. “No” he whispered.

 

The four of them dropped everything and god Luke felt awful because he _knew_ Michael had really been looking forward to going out tonight with the 1D boys because _New York and he had to have his fucking breakdown here he had to loose his mind in one of the most wonderful, interesting places on earth._

 

They curled around him, his legs propped on Michael’s lap, Calum tracing patterns on his hand, Ashton threading his fingers through his hair. For a long time, no one said a word. They let him gather his thoughts, silently reassuring him that _they weren’t going anywhere._

 

He didn’t tell them everything, and maybe they knew that. He didn’t tell them that he felt like he was cracking under the secrets he held, guarded in his heart. Very slowly, they pulled out what had happened; that his dad had called and what he’d said and for a moment the air was thick with tension; a storm cloud waiting to burst. Hesitantly, Michael asked whether what his dad had said was _true_ (“You know we don’t care right? Like, your Luke nothing can change that? Just because he doesn’t get it doesn’t mean its wrong.”)

 

_Luke was very glad he had his boys to hold onto; without them his soul would have been scattered to the wind, beaten and battered like his mother after his dad had a round of drinks._

 

It was nice now that they knew part of it because whenever Luke felt like the air was being pressed from his lungs and – _god Ashton I cant go onstage I cant there’s so many people and I’m just not good enough I’m not I’m not –_

They were there; calm and collected and ready to save Luke from himself.

 

When Luke was seventeen he knew he loved Ashton and he also sort of ruined everything because he’d gotten sloppy with his affection and his secrets – _smooth ruffles and satin shoved haphazardly in the bottom of his bag, dumped across the floor._

_What if they kicked him out?_

_What if they thought he was a freak?_

 

When Ashton had asked if he could borrow a shirt Luke didn’t even _think_ – and the shock on the drummer’s face was all he needed to know that he’d ruined this, god he’d fucked it up so badly; how had he thought he could keep this a secret.

 

He didn’t wait for the confusion or the anger or the disgust- he just _ran_ ; pushing past Michael who was standing in the front of the bus; running until he couldn’t anymore and just sinking to the ground, his back pressed against cool metal. _He wasn’t sure where he was but it didn’t matter; his put his head between his knees and pulled at his hair so hard it hurt but it didn’t hurt as much as his chest; he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe._

_This was the beginning of the end, everything his father said was true and what would he do without these boys? How could he survive without Calum’s irritating singing at all hours of the day; Michael’s shit comments that he tossed around; Ashton’s – everything about Ashton made Luke’s heart race and the look in his eyes would haunt him for the rest of his life._

 

The sound of his future crashing down around him muffled the sound of footsteps approaching him, and it wasn’t until gentle fingers pried his hands away from his hair did he realize he wasn’t alone.

 

_Why has he come after me?_

“Luke?”

 

It was achingly painful, drawing the breathe that would let loose the floodgate of words ending Luke’s life. “I – I understand if, if you guys like… like don’t want to see me anymore? I know, I know its weird and unnatural and _vile_ – please don’t, please don’t hate me if you guys – if you hated me I don’t – oh _god_ I should have known this would happen I should have known-“

 

Gentle fingers lifted his chin; warm, honey eyes drew him in and the soft smile on Ashton’s face confused him. “Luke why wouldn’t we want to see you? Why would this change _anything_?” He could feel his heart breaking because _why was Ashton doing this to him why was he playing with him Luke wasn’t stupid he knew Ashton was mad and disgusted – hell, Luke was disgusted why couldn’t he be normal why was he like this –_

 

“Luke!” the worry in his voice brought the singer back to the present, breath coming in stuttering gasps as Ashton pressed kisses to every inch of his face. “Come on Luke deep breaths don’t do this, come on.”  _Ashton was his rock, his anchor, he was fucked he was so fucked because when had he fallen in love with Ashton, with his laugh and his smile and how he lit up any room he was in. He’d fallen in love with the late night cuddles and how the drummer would always snake his arm around Luke’s waist, pressing sloppy kisses to his cheek and laughing when his cheeks would flame red._

_Ashton helped him breathe again._

 

“M’fine I – I’m fine.” He bit out and Ashton tipped his forehead against Luke’s. _He could lean up and kiss him_. They sat like that for a while, warmth seeping into Luke’s frozen bones. “W-why didn’t you tell us?” Ashton finally asked softly, leaning back so he could meet Luke’s eyes, keeping a firm hold on the blonde boy’s hands.

 

Laughing bitterly, Luke cast his eyes towards the ground. “That would have gone over real fucking well. ‘Hi, I’m Luke, I’m fourteen and I like to put on makeup and wear dresses’. You guys would have never talked to me and you know it.” Humming sadly, Ashton traced patterns on Luke’s palms. “Maybe not in at first. But now- I just, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to us. I don’t want you to feel like we would _leave_ you over something like this!”

 

His voice had risen and Luke flinched back. Ashton paused for a moment before continuing, his voice lowered. “We’re your best mates, I’m –“ he choked. “It’s your dad isn’t it?”

 

Yanking his hands from Ashton’s Luke curled in on himself, pressing the cool fabric of his sweatshirt against his eyes. “Please – please don’t.” _he couldn’t keep the pain from his voice, the terror._

 

“No wait Luke – Luke _please_ just talk to me, I don’t want you to feel like you need to _hide_ this there’s _nothing wrong with it._ ”

 

Was he kidding? Was he making fun of him? Was the universe playing some cruel joke on him because the most beautiful boy he’d ever met was still talking to him after he’d discovered the worst thing about Luke.

 

“Are you kidding?” he exploded, not letting the shock on Ashton’s face deter him. “Is this some sort of fucked up plot to make me feel worse? I’m not _stupid_ Ashton I know it’s weird, I know it’s messed up; I’ve been told since before I could read everything I felt was wrong and disgusting, and its even worse because if _this_ hadn’t completely fucked any chance I had with this band, on top of everything I’ve _fallen completely in love with you_ and if I have to go another day I’m going to _die-_ “

 

Luke’s brain short-circuited when Ashton crashed his lips against his, pushing against him with a desperate ferocity that left Luke panting when the drummer finally pulled back.

 

“Don’t say that to me. Don’t tell me you’re worthless and disgusting and wrong because you’re _not_ you’re completely and utterly beautiful and nothing that you’re doing it wrong, nothing you feel is _wrong_ Luke. God I’d like to kill the people that made you feel this way because we know you – _I know you_ – and I know that there’s nothing I would ever change because you’re _perfect_ I just want you to see that I want you to _know_ you perfect - _fuck_ Luke I’m in love with you I’m so in love with every part of you - you have to know that – I need you to know that.”

 

Blinking owlishly at the red-faced boy in front of him, the butterflies in Luke’s stomach erupted and he couldn’t find his breathe or his words and some point he’d started crying and all he could do was lean forward and close the space between him and Ashton.

 

 

“Band meeting.” Ashton announced loudly, and Harry and Zayn looked up from where they were playing FIFA with Michael and Calum. “Get out.” He added as an afterthought. Taking in the tear tracks on Luke’s face and the tight hold Ashton had around his waist, the two boys exchanged looks and nodded, sliding the door shut behind them.

 

Pressed against Ashton’s side, Luke fumbled through his story; his story of struggling to find who he was and what he could become; of being lost and confused. He shrunk under Calum and Michael’s stares, not letting himself wonder what they were thinking. He knew if he did he’d stop talking and not be able to start again.

 

“So like, why do you do it? I’m not trying to be critical or rude or something I’m just curious.” Calum tacked on hastily, leaning forward on his hands. “I uh.” Luke closed his eyes and he felt dizzy with embarrassment. “It makes me feel pretty.” 

 

No one said anything and he sunk deeper into Ashton’s side.

 

The weighted silence was broken, of course, by Michael. “Well do you at least look hot?” Luke’s head snapped up to see a fond grin on the other boy’s face. “Come on, Luke’s already hot, I’m sure with makeup he’s a knockout.”

 

Calum laughed and the tension was gone. Throughout the day the three of them hovered around Luke, Michael ruffling his hair or pressing a kiss to his cheek when he would pass him; Calum cuddling with him before the show, and during he hung around, nudging him playfully during solos. Ashton – well Ashton didn’t let Luke out of his sight.

 

_That night they slept in a dog pile on the floor, Calum curling around his waist, Michael’s fingers tangled in his hair and Ashton pillowed on his chest, kissing him slowly and sweetly._

_When Luke was seventeen he was home._

**Author's Note:**

> I promise there will be a part 2 with lots of badly written smut


End file.
